


The Zero-Percent Survival Rate

by sarahjeanne21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, I AM SORRY, It gets better I promise, Pre-Stanford, Sad Sam, Sam Angst, Sam-Centric, Suicidal Sam, Suicide Attempt, This is Getting Out of Hand, i should write something that isn't suicidal sam, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahjeanne21/pseuds/sarahjeanne21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is very tired. Dean is very not around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Zero-Percent Survival Rate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers! I am trying something new kind of, I hope it's not too terribly awful. Once again, sorry for the excessive Sam!whump. I have a problem it's not my fault.

Wake up. Train. School. Repeat.

Wake up. Train. School. Repeat.

Sam was stuck, trying to make his dad see him as a teenage kid. He was stuck trying to make Dean see him in general. Their life was lonely enough without his only consistency leaving him behind.

He was rooted in place, not really willing to give up whatever semblance of family they had. He wanted to feel safe

Sam tried to train when he could, but school always came first for him and he needed to believe he could get out. Running was nice because it made him feel weightless and his brain went offline for a while. Target practice gave him a headache and a sore shoulder. Research wasn’t as rewarding when no one thanked him or told him how the hunt went (unless something went _really_ right and Dean was bragging). This was his life, and it was ending one day at a time.

Wake up. Get out of bed. Get out of bed. Get out of bed.

What for?

Sam was tired of waiting for something substantial to happen. Everything was getting covered in a layer of plastic, time was dipped in honey, his insides wrapped in sandpaper. Nothing was ever going to change, except maybe one of them wouldn’t be fast enough and someone would die.

Sam was tired. Blood red stitches, ice cold showers.

He did a good job, son.

What for?

Dean is yelling at him to duck.

He doesn’t.

Wake up. Clean the infected stitches. School. Repeat.

Sometimes Dean would stay with Sam. He would get an honest job with his falsified documents and they would save up a little money. Dad would blow it right away on something absolutely vital to whatever job he was working that week. The hunt came first, always. The hunt came before college. It came before food.

Sam was starving.

If you cut yourself and don’t bleed out, does it really count?

A stack of homework makes it’s home in the left hand corner of their kitchen table. Dad shakes his head at it.

You should train more, Sam. People’s lives are at stake. Get your head out of your ass and clean the shotgun shells, Sam.

Dean shows him how to melt silver bullets.

Wake up. Train. School. Repeat.

Sam is running until his feet blister. Sam is doing homework until it’s three in the morning and he hasn’t slept in two days. Fucking AP classes. Sam is in bed, sobbing until the sun comes up because he’s alone again and his family might be dead and he doesn’t know how to fix anything.

He lies to his friends and teachers and everyone else he meets. He lies to Dean and Dad. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand feeling this dirty.

Flat lining on a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses who don’t know you and only care by association.

Duck, Sam.

Don’t die, Sam.

What for?

Don’t wait up, Sam.

If illusion and reality are indistinguishable, do you even exist? When Sam couldn’t feel himself breath, was he still human? Did it still matter?

Sam was starving.

Flatlining on a stained motel bed.

Wake up. Train. School. Down a bottle of Tylenol Extra Strength.

He was tired of repeating.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Concrit is welcome :)


End file.
